DRAFTED Into Chaos

CHAPTER TWENTY

I awoke early on Thursday morning, even though I hadn't slept particularly well. I pulled on a black tee-shirt and then a green-gray sweater. The thermometer next to the bathroom window read ten-below. Mom had fixed hot oatmeal, which I ate quickly and burned my tongue. I set the bowl down for Bennie to lick clean, but he was nowhere to be seen. Too cold for the big lug to get up, I supposed. I was not right on time, having gotten dressed slowly, and grabbed my coat and backpack.

It's funny how quickly part of your world can fall apart.

I recall my fingers curling around the knob. That moment, for some reason, was very sharp in my mind. And I remember pulling it open, feeling the cold air rush in on me. The next thing I knew I was staring down, in shock and horror, quickly staggering against the doorframe. My mouth dropped open at the sight of thick streams of blood, crimson and black, oozing slowly down the step. As if the blood itself wasn't bad enough, there were two matted sections of half-frozen corpse that had been sliced in two. A hunting knife, jagged, shiny, and tainted red, had been placed between them, pointing towards where I now stood.

Through deaf ears, I heard mom shout from the kitchen to close the door. But I was frozen, staring down at the red insides of whatever this thing was that was at my front door. The way the white, pure snow was offended by the nearly black blood. I gaped down, unblinking, for what seemed forever, until I finally realized it was my dog I was looking at. Bennie had been carved in two, his insides spilling sideways. His fur was frozen and matted, and his eyes were blank. Almost like Darren's eyes. I couldn't even scream, I could only let out a shaking whimper of a cry as my legs buckled. This is where I wake up, I thought.

Extreme measures, indeed.

I didn't go to school that day. I was not surprised at all to learn there were no fingerprints on the knife. Mom got very defensive when the police asked to question me, but I didn't care. I blamed myself. The police labeled it a hate-crime. In a way, they were right. Stupid werewolves. Couldn't they just leave us alone? Even if I DID ask for their help... even if anyone did... they didn't need to hurt my dog. He used to sleep with me every night, until he got too big of course. Now he was gone. And he wasn't coming back.

Two hours later, I heard a familiar tapping at my window. Barely glancing up, I opened it. Elinor climbed in and planted herself in front of me.

"Katie, what's going on?"

I said nothing.

"Katie!" her ice-cold hands firmly gripped around my face and she forced me to look up at her. "What. Happened?"

I swallowed. "They tried to tell me -- They... They warned me to change my mind. They said they'd go to extremes."

She gritted her teeth for a moment. "Who?"

Mark and Cindy, I thought. But not what I said. I glared back into her equally upset eyes.

"Goddamn Werewolves!"